Leitmotif
by Ellie12
Summary: Twelve song titles are the basis for a series of 100word drabbles. Written for the HouseficPens Clinic challenge. Not songfic.


Title: Leitmotif  
Author: Ellie  
Rating: PG13  
Summary: Twelve song titles are the basis for a series of 100-word drabbles. Written for the HouseficPens Clinic challenge. Not songfic.  
Notes: Song titles are not included in the word count. While I took the first ten songs the iPod shuffled up, I ended up changing the order around to make them flow better.

---

_When You Were Young_

"Greg, for the last time, we cannot take Spike to Egypt!" The screen door slammed behind his father's retreating form, and he was left kneeling on the lawn next to the German Shepherd.

Swiftly he rose and ran as fast as his eight-year-old legs could carry him, tennis ball in his trailing hand to entice the dog to follow him down Eisenhower Road. The dog caught him in one final, joyful bounce, knocking him gently to the ground by the edge of the parade ground.

Tossing the ball, he looked back down the street to see his mother's silhouette, watching.

---

_Ambulance_

As the left door swung shut, the driver glanced back at Robert. "You coming, kid?"

He knew he should, but he wasn't sure wanted to. Glancing through the door, he saw his mother, deathly pale and still. With a nod, he hoisted himself up to join them, watching the technicians working over her.

"Do you know how long she's been unconscious?" The query was brisk but gentle.

"She was fine when I left for Mass at eight." She'd snapped at him for waking her, and he'd slipped out quietly, glad to be gone. "She was fine when I left her."

---

_Science vs. Romance_

"You should really talk to him about that now," said Lisa, reluctantly, glancing nervously through the glass at Greg.

"We have talked about it, and he's not happy about it. He also knows I have power of attorney while he's under," Stacy replied in her best closing-arguments voice.

"He is on a lot of painkillers right now, Stacy. Are you absolutely sure he understands the full implications of—"

"I'm the lawyer, Lisa, let me worry about that. He understands what he's asking for."

As she returned to the room, Stacy barely heard Lisa whisper,"I hope that you do, too."

---

_Too Far Gone_

The pain was like a living thing, undulating, writhing , constricting until he thought it would kill him. It had, for a moment, overwhelming his mind and overburdening his body.

Greg knew that things could not continue this way. His estimations had been off; math was never his strong suit. Now he was paying for his terrible miscalculation, and was willing to make one final gamble to see if it would all pay off.

He'd never liked gambling when he couldn't control the odds. For one last chance, though, he was willing to take the odds and roll the dice.

---

_Straight, No Chaser_

Returning home from another day's vigil at the hospital, Stacy shed clothing and shoes like a snake before reaching the kitchen. They never had much in the cupboards, but the liquor cabinet was always stocked.

She found a glass and rifled through the bottles, clanking softly before she found the one she wanted. The amber liquid glittered like ice and burned her throat as she gulped down half of it at once. The remainder sloshed in the glass as she collapsed onto the couch, lost in thought.

The bourbon couldn't tell her what Greg would say when he regained consciousness.

---

_Down by the Riverside _

Allison stared down at the pewter urn in her hands, for a moment wondering how she came to be here with it. The wind rustled the leaves, and with faltering steps she followed the path between them down to the large maple where they'd had a picnic their first date. Under it's leafy shelter, she looked down to the river, deceptively still here before the rocky rapids just around the bend.

It took more effort than she expected to open the urn. It seemed to take no effort for her arms to quaver, shaking ashes free to the west wind.

---

_Everybody's Gotta Learn Sometime_

His first week back was rougher than he'd expected, with too much sympathy, too many patients and too few interesting cases. Walking the hard floors occasionally sent sparks of pain arcing through his thigh, and he'd taken it out on everyone around him.

Returning Friday to find her clothes gone and a note on the kitchen counter didn't surprise him, not after months of anger and recriminations and no makeup sex. The hurt surprised him, cutting deeper than anything in his leg.

When he slammed his cane down on the counter, it ripped the note and shattered the wooden cane.

---

_I'm Coming Over_

"House? Are you busy tonight?"

"The game's on at eight. Then I've got a full night of brooding ahead of me. I have to keep in practice, you know. Use it or loose it."

"I doubt there's any danger of that happening."

"Still, I try to keep in practice."

"Twenty bucks says Philadelphia over Boston."

"I'll take that bet."

There was an awkward pause, then, "Michelle kicked me out. Is your couch free?"

A sigh echoed across the line. "This is the second time this month."

"It'll be the last time."

"Stop and pick up some beer on your way."

---

_I Could Have Danced All Night_

His mother turned up the music on the radio, moving in a shuffling sway to Duke Ellington's rollicking orchestra. She remained spry for her age, an odd grace to her movement.

"Dance with me like you used to, Rodney," she said, extending her arm to him.

For a moment, Eric hesitated. "I'm….I'd love to," he said finally, standing and taking her in his arms. She had taught him to dance as a boy, said he was a natural.

Bending his arm, he twirled her in a spin that left her laughing, dancing in a Harlem music hall he couldn't see.

---

_Off the Record_

He gathered the pieces slowly, but methodically. A spare syringe here, a tourniquet there, a handful of alcohol wipes from the clinic. The morphine was trickier, prescriptions complicating matters. But supplies were supplies, and at the end of the day, no one liked checklists enough to keep close tabs.

All of them went in the box, much easier to procure than its contents. Hiding it away was hardest still, not because anyone would look, but because stowing it was nearly beyond his reach. He downed more Vicodin and Scotch, and unsteadily heaved it atop the bookcase in case of emergency.

---

_Ode to Divorce_

Wilson stared down at the folder before him, Mont Blanc poised over the proverbial dotted line. It was easier this time, but more regrettable.

The third time was supposed to be the charm, and it had seemed that way in the beginning. They'd gone away for weekends at the shore, theater at Lincoln Center, snowy evenings in front of the fireplace.

He'd always been a baseball fan, and understood that with the third strike, he was out. All it took was one firm stroke of his pen, ink smudging under his hand, and he was out of this marriage, too.

---

_Diamond Sea_

When her grandmother died, Lisa was twelve. Her mother had inherited the jewelry, but offered Lisa and her sister each one piece. Beth, then eight, had taken a gaudy brooch, because she loved cats, and this one had sparkling green eyes.

Feeling older and superior, Lisa had pondered her options. Eventually she selected earrings, antique pearls suspended from tiny diamond studs. For her college graduation, her parents bought her a matching necklace.

Sitting on the edge of her tub, waiting on the pregnancy test, she toyed with her earring and wondered if she would have a daughter to wear them.

---


End file.
